Reap what you sow
by dinosaur99
Summary: Sam turns ghost whisperer to recruit an unlikely ally in a fight to save his and Dean's lives. No spoilers. Rated for minor language and a bit of whumpage. Please R
1. Chapter 1

My first fiction. Is based around season 2 time, but no spoilers.

Any recognisable characters belong to CW and Eric Kripke. Am not making any money from this, absolutely nothing.

**REAP WHAT YOU SOW**

Dean and Sam Winchester had fallen naturally into their familiar roles within the steamy diner. Having ordered their coffees, they had found an isolated table beneath a big picture window overlooking a rain soaked Main Street.

Sam sat staring intently at the screen of his lap-top; lips pursed and eyebrows meeting in concentration, occasionally breaking the silence between them with the rhythmic tap tap of his keyboard.

Bored with watching him, Dean sat opposite trying to occupy himself by doing what he thought he did best, and glanced around the room trying desperately to connect with the waitress as she busied herself with flicking crumbs off a nearby table.

With poorly hidden satisfaction, Dean's efforts with the girl were finally rewarded when his best smile was returned to him, quickly followed by a blush and deliberate sway of the hips.

Pausing from his research in time to catch the intimate exchange, Sam sighed and tried to drag his brother's attention back to the subject in hand. "Dean, are you even interested in listening to me?"

Dean swung his head round to face Sam, but his eyes remained appreciatively fixed on the woman's hips. "You have my undivided attention Sammy, what's up?"

Seeing that his brother was anything but attentive, Sam drew in the deepest breath ever and exhaled an impossibly long and laboured sigh.

Hearing him, Dean couldn't help but wonder if his lungs had expanded far enough down to rest on his knee-caps that time. "Dude, you seem to be having a bit of trouble with your breathing there; think you might need to go visit a doctor?"

Choosing to ignore his brothers' comments, Sam resignedly launched into his findings. "So, there have been a series of strange deaths over the past year, all centred on a packing depot just a few hours drive from here. Apparently the victims all died from run-ins with machinery or equipment that seemed to operate by themselves, nothing ever picked-up on the security camera", he paused to check the screen again, "Lets see, for starters we have decapitation by a conveyer belt, crushed by a compactor, um.., shot thirty times with a nail gun, oh, and impaled on a forklift. The list goes on."

"Serial nail guns and psychopathic fork-lifts, I don't think so Sammy, sounds more like operator error to me."

"And get this," Sam continued, "What's really odd is that even the police reports acknowledge that there may be something supernatural going on, never known them to admit that before, have you?"

"Huh," was all Dean could manage.

In all his years of hunting, and as far as he was aware, those of their dads too, the police had never once formally admitted that there were bad things beyond the realms of normal explanation. Admittedly there were a scattering of police officers whose lives would never be the same after their shocking introduction into the brothers' scary world, but they had always chosen to stay silent rather than risk being thought insane. Who could blame them…right?

Finally, Dean nodded. His brother's bloodhound nose for sniffing out new cases was rarely wrong. "Okay, I admit that is beyond freakin' weird. We'll go check it out first thing tomorrow."

xxxx

After an early start, the two hunters made good time reaching the town just over in the next state. On arrival, they had spent the day gathering as much information as possible, pouring over local records before using illegally gained police reports to track down and gently question some very distraught witnesses. It was pretty obvious to them that they were dealing with a vengeful spirit, the most likely culprit being the previous owner of the land on which the depot now sat.

The area had once been farmland, owned and lovingly worked over several generations by the Conner family. The farm had just about been breaking-even when the rumours that it was being considered for a new depot had started, so the townsfolk were at first surprised then increasingly angry when Conner had refused to sell, particularly with the promise of so many new jobs at stake.

After months of unsuccessfully boycotting the farm in an attempt to force Conner out of business, the situation eventually turned ugly when the standoff was brought to a permanent and particularly bloody close.

No one really knew who attacked Conner that night, but the rumor mill in town hummed with whispers of a local involvement. What was a certainty was that someone had brutally murdered the farmer before setting fire to the family home and crops, and that the crime had remained unsolved.

Inevitably, the scorched and neglected land had passed into the hands of the developers, and within a short space of time, most of the evidence that the farm had ever existed had been erased with the first foundations. All that was left un-touched was a small, and now long forgotten family burial plot tucked away in a far corner of the site. It was here that the boys hoped to dig up and dispatch with the bones of Conner.

xxxx

The packing depot was a large but anonymous collection of grey industrial buildings and offices located some distance from the small town that it provided with employment. From an ideal vantage point tucked behind an office block, the boys sat silently in the parked Impala watching and waiting as the tail end of workers made their goodbyes before heading for home.

With no eyewitness sightings of the spirit they needed to confirm that Conner was their man, well…vengeful spirit, for themselves. This was the only way they could be sure that the killings would stop once they had salted and burned his bones. And they planned to enter the warehouse where the grisly events had occurred, so they could lure the spirit out and become acquainted with it in a not so friendly manner.

Finally they were satisfied that the place was deserted. The security lights fixed to a distant perimeter fence by someone with a questionable sense of direction did nothing to light their intended targets, so the buildings sat menacingly hunched together in the growing darkness. Perfect hunting conditions.

Once out the car it didn't take the boys long to correctly identify the building where the macabre activities had occurred. '_Crime scene do not enter_' tape criss-crossed the entrance to the large warehouse like an over enthusiastically wrapped birthday gift, making it stand out in contrast from its unadorned neighbours.

Making short work of the police seals and locks, the brothers cautiously entered the building, pausing for a moment to allow their eyes to adjust to the dark space that stretched before them.

The warehouse was a cavernous room filled with signs that production had been halted mid-job.

Boxes and packages of goods lay in various states of completion along the length of the plant and equipment that formed the assembly-line snaking around the room. With so many shadowy areas to search, the two hunters decided to split-up so they could carry out a systematic search quicker.

Sam was the first to find evidence of the violence that had taken place. He looked in amazement at the large bloodstain pooled around the base of the guiltily looking fork-lift. Calling over his brother, he asked, "Is it true that the human body holds only eight pints of blood? Because, if it is, this guy must have been practically transparent when they found him."

"Come on, Sam, no use crying over spilt blood." Said Dean, before letting loose a loud "Yeuch!" as he joined him and eyed the impressive bloodstain for himself.

They concentrated their search in this area before spreading further out when this proved fruitless. For over an hour they hunted the main area of the warehouse with equally unsuccessful results, prompting Dean to try and goad the spirit out with taunts. "Come on, freak, time to come out and play with the big boys."

Eventually Sam was forced to give the EMF meter he carried a violent shake to check it was still working. "I don't get it, this thing should be lit up like a Christmas tree by now," he said, showing his frustration. "Maybe this isn't a vengeful spirit after all; it could be a bashful one. Maybe we should be drawing it out with offers of hugs or…, or lollipops instead."

"Okay, Sam." Dean was also getting irritated by the seemingly reluctant spirit, and since they were now back to covering old ground again, he suggested that they move on to the offices located at the far end of the building.

Once there, they found a number of offices leading off a central corridor. Entering the first they found themselves in a large oak panelled room smelling of polish and old cigar smoke. Wrinkling his nose at the smell, Sam gave the room a couple of wide sweeps with the beam from his torch. Padding his way over the thick carpet that covered the floor, he headed towards a display case that had caught his attention. "Hey, Dean, come take a look at this."

Dean wandered over to where his brother stood beside a large, glass fronted oak cabinet that grandly stood at the head of the room. Inside was an assortment of faded and curled photographs that they just about recognised as the old farm. Below these lay a small collection of personal items that had been found on site during the building works. Dean looked at the sad little group feeling a sense of pity that this was all there was to show for Conner's life. "That's not rubbing the old boy's nose in it much, no wonder he's pissed. Do you think his spirit could be attached to one of these?"

"Possibly," Sam agreed. He reached into the cabinet, picking up a gold cross and chain. Turning it over in his fingers, he was just about to take a closer look when he was suddenly stopped by the shock of a voice shouting behind them.

"_Freeze, armed police. Put your hands where I can see them_."

xxxx

The hunters cringed and quickly reached for the ceiling, locking their hands behind their heads.

"Turn around slowly and on your knees," the authorative voice continued.

Obeying, they turned round to face the source of the voice and dropped to their knees. A lone police officer stood before them, his gun pointing in their general direction. They guessed he was middle-aged, but he gave off a confident and officious air that suggested more often than not, the man came out on the right side of any tussles with his usual clientele.

The boys glanced at each other, then Dean launched into one of their well worn routines "There's a perfectly good explanation for this Officer. You see our father's the plant owner, and we just dropped by to pick something up for him that he left behind, old mans getting a bit forgetful these days."

"Yeah, right", the officer responded. "The old mans in his nineties. Do the maths, when you two jokers must have been born, him and his wife would have been in their seventies and not up to doing anything more physical than adjusting their hearing aids. Do you really think I look that stupid?"

"Well since you mention…" Dean started to answer but was suddenly cut short by his brother interrupting him.

Hearing the question posed by the Officer, Sam had looked at his brother, knew exactly what he was thinking, saw the brain shift into neutral, the mouth shift into drive and decided his brother needed saving from himself.

"No…no sir, but you have to believe we have a legitimate reason for being here."

Feeling cheated, Dean threw a glare at his brother; unaware of the number of times Sam had used this diverting tactic in the past to save him from a potential crack to the jaw.

Sam continued, "Look, I have ID in my pocket. If you just let me show you I can explain everything."

The officer looked at Sam and smiled, "Oh, I'm sure you have, in fact, I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Sam, Dean." He nodded at each in turn as he reeled off their names. "It is Sam and Dean Winchester, isn't it?"

The boys' mouths gaped silently open, as they eyed him with renewed suspicion.

The Officer then went about securing the pair of them. It was not the first time he had worked alone and he had honed his routine down to a fine art, ensuring that there was no chance of being overpowered in situations when he had more than one suspect to deal with.

Reaching into his pocket with his free hand, the Officer withdrew two pairs of handcuffs. Throwing a pair over at Sam, he instructed him to cuff Dean's hands behind his back.

Dean's mind was in overdrive, weighing up the chances of them fighting their way out of this situation. The Officer was older, and there were the two of them, improving their odds considerably, but the man was armed. Damn, no matter which way he looked at it there was no getting past the gun thing. Putting his arms behind him, he turned his back and offered up his hands to his brother.

Sam hesitated, being the one to make his brother defenceless sucked. Like Dean, he worked his way methodically through each of the options popping into his head before he too stumbled at the last hurdle – the gun. His thoughts were broken by Dean noticing that the Officer was becoming increasing agitated by the lack of activity.

"Sam, its okay" he reassured quietly.

Finally Sam forced himself to pocket the small cross that he still held, and tightened the cuffs around his brothers' wrists with a small apology.

The remaining cuffs were then thrown towards Sam with the instruction that he was to lock one of his own wrists and lie face down on the floor, hands behind him. When Sam had completed this task, the Officer moved towards him, toppling Dean, noisily, face down on the floor as he passed, before finishing the job of securing both of Sam's hands behind him.

"Err…what now Officer?" Dean asked, straining to look round.

"How about this for starters," the Officer responded, quickly bringing his gun down, first to the back of Dean's head, and then to Sam's, knocking them both out cold.

xxxx


	2. Chapter 2

My first fiction. Is based around season 2 time, but no spoilers.

Any recognisable characters belong to CW and Eric Kripke. Am not making any money from this, absolutely nothing.

**REAP WHAT YOU SOW**

Chapter 2

Dean was the first to come to, wondering why his arms felt like they were being pulled from their sockets. The tightness to both his wrists gave him the answer and he realised his arms were suspended above his head, holding his body upright. His feet dragged uselessly on the floor, and he was just in the process of adjusting them to help support his weight when he heard their captor talking on his cell phone.

Keeping still, he hid the signs of his recovery and listened in as the Officer tied up his call. "Yeah, definitely them…shouldn't take more than a couple of hours…no I can handle it.…Yeah, well once it's done I'll dispose of them…Yeah me too…Okay, see you later." The phone snapped shut.

After remaining silent for a few more moments, the man turned his attention to the brothers and threw a small quantity of water at their faces to rouse them from their enforced slumber. Dean shook his head and groaned convincingly to keep up the pretence of just coming around.

Planting his feet solidly beneath him, he straightened his legs to a standing position. He was thankful for the slight relief that this move gave his shoulders and wrists. Looking around he noted that they had been moved back into the main warehouse. Things had not improved for them.

Sam woke up in a similar predicament, and in his confused state it took him a while to work out that he was also able to stand to ease the discomfort in his arms. He looked up to find he was cuffed to the same overhead support joist as his brother a few feet away. Being the taller of the two he had the benefit of a bit more slack in his arms, unlike Dean, who he observed was at full stretch just keeping his feet grounded. He was a long way from finding any of this amusing, but he made a mental note to rib Dean about it once they were free. Not because it was particularly funny, but because he needed to feel the comfort of imagining a time beyond this, when they would both be safe again.

Dean suddenly interrupted his thoughts. "You okay, buddy?"

"I've definitely been better, how about you?"

"Apart from the dislocated shoulders, or including them?" Dean asked.

Sam just about managed a smile "Oh…apart from them".

"Just dandy."

Having reassured each other that they were both okay, the boys turned their attention to their captor and fired a barrage of questions at him.

"Who are you, and what do you want with us?" said Sam.

"Yeah, you're not a cop, not unless they've introduced a new dumb ass chapter on attacking and kidnapping suspects in the police academy training manual" Dean added.

"My name's Nathan Morgan, and I'm a cop alright," said Morgan, as he identified himself. "But you're right, they do tend to frown on treatment like this in the force. It's just that I have a little job that requires your skills."

He continued, "I've been doing a bit of hunting for myself since I heard about you two from a colleague over in Baltimore you helped, apparently with the assistance of a ghost."

"Let's get one thing straight, they're spirits." corrected Dean.

"Anyway, being the solid citizens you are, it was so easy to draw you in. Made up stories of people being killed, a few fake police reports of strange goings on, planted witnesses, and you pair come running along to the rescue like superheroes."

Sam looked at him incredulously. "What…? There were no real deaths, no spirit? You made the whole thing up as some sort of sick trap?"

"Hey, I've seen this episode," said Dean, "It's a Scooby Doo classic. Stupid cop invents a spirit to cover up some insane crime. Don't worry Sammy; it turns out okay in the end. Stupid is eventually outsmarted, and if I remember correctly, the episode will end with a 'and I would have got away with it without you meddling kids', am I right Morgan?"

Morgan just looked at Dean with hateful eyes. "Carry on like that, Dean, and we'll see just where that smart mouth of yours gets you."

xxxx

Morgan explained that he had once been part of a group of likeminded police buddies, including Morgan's own brother, who had muscled in on extortion deals in the local area, "kinda like a private pension plan."

Their biggest deal had been their involvement in the demise of the farmer Conner, an act that should have netted them considerable rewards from the developers. Unfortunately the developers had gotten greedy, refusing to hand over payment and threatening to exploit the vulnerable position that the police were in, by exposing them to their colleagues in the department.

Close to retirement and angered at the thought of his meagre police pension, Morgan's brother had eventually taken it upon himself to confront the contact within the developers to demand the payment they were due. But in an ironic twist of justice, he had met with the same violent fate as Conner.

"And you need us, why…? Sam asked.

"Its all about revenge," said Morgan. "Frank was my brother; I want someone to pay for his death and for double-crossing us. I've heard that ghosts can be summoned back, that they seek out and kill those who wronged them. So I want you to bring him back for a little pay-back time."

Dean shook his head. "For crying out loud, they're spirits, spirits who are mostly – well downright nasty. You're even dumber than you look if you think this insane plan of yours is going to work."

Morgan just laughed. "I've thought this thing through. They _will_ pay for what they did. Frank will see to that, and nobody will ever suspect me. I mean, who in their right mind would suspect that a ghost, sorry – spirit, was the murder weapon? It's got to be the most perfect revenge crime ever."

Dean turned towards his brother, and half in attempt to lighten the tense atmosphere, and half…well, just because he couldn't stop his inner wise-guy, said in a loud stage whisper, "Got to agree with him there Sammy, can't quite picture those CSI guys trying to work out the trajectory and velocity of ectoplasm."

Sam looked at Dean as if he was completely mad, but then a smile suddenly surfaced and slid across his face. Turning to face Morgan, Sam continued to try and reason with him.

"Look I don't know what you've heard, but you're wrong. You can't just force a spirit to come back; I'm not even sure it's possible. So no, we can't help you."

"We'll see," said Morgan. "I took the liberty of fetching your things from your motel while you were, err…napping. Found a few interesting books, looks like the police aren't the only ones with instruction manuals. I'll go and get them shall I?"

xxxx

The boys took advantage of Morgan being out of earshot to review their predicament. "You've seen a summoning ritual done before haven't you?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," confirmed Sam, "there are instructions in one of the books Bobby gave us. But we can't perform it, you know that spirits don't take kindly to being summoned or controlled, who knows what it might do."

Dean agreed. "Well, we can't risk another uncontrolled freak wandering around, not while we're cuffed. Morgan is one bucket of crazy too many as it is for my liking. Best we continue to play the dumb card with him."

As a final warning, Dean told Sam about the phone call he had overheard earlier. "If Morgan intends to kill us when this is all over, then we have to hold out for as long as possible. Think maybe you can do that until I can figure something out?"

Sam nodded, hoping that the solution would come quick enough to save their sorry asses.

Morgan returned carrying the books he'd retrieved from the brothers' motel room and placed them at their feet. "Right then Sam, tell me where to find the information you need."

Sam just shook his head. "I've already told you that we can't help you."

"Oh, sure you can." Morgan took out a small recorder and pressed playback. The boys just looked at each other and groaned as they heard their exchange about the summoning ritual played back to them. "Didn't guess I had you bugged then? Still think I'm stupid now?" he asked as his fist rocketed into the side of Sam's face. "Now are you going to be sensible and tell me what I need to know Sam, because I think we have already established that you can?"

Sam's head snapped back so hard he thought Morgan must have given him whiplash. Violent protests from Dean mingled with the ringing in his ears, and it was a few seconds before he was able to regain his composure. Deliberately clamping his mouth shut, he defiantly shook his head at Morgan.

Dean was becoming more animated by the second; futilely trying to pull himself free as the handcuffs securely held him prisoner. It was killing him to see his brother being hurt, and in his helpless position the only way of saving Sam was to try and deflect Morgan's attention away from him. He started shooting threats at Morgan, but this did not work, Morgan was a man on a mission.

Taking another swing at Sam, Morgan hit out at him full force knocking his teeth together and drawing the first signs of blood from his nose and lips. Sam squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the pain and blew a lungful of air noisily through his clenched teeth.

"Come on, Sam, start talking" Morgan persisted.

"Does this mean we've skipped over the part where I have the right to remain silent?"

Morgan just shook his head. "I was hoping for a little cooperation here, but I can do this your way too."

With that he moved a step closer to Sam and let off a volley of punches making contact with his face and unprotected abdomen. By the time Morgan had finished Sam was unable to talk even if he had been prepared to. Prevented from doubling up to ease his breathing, he stood drawing in short gasps like a drowning man coming up for air. The man had just about punched one of his ribs into a lung.

Seeing the effects the attacks were having on his brother, Dean began shouting murderously at Morgan "I am going to kill you for that!" Morgan looked over at him contemptuously, "Now that would be a neat trick seeing as how you're a little indisposed at the moment. Now shut it."

Morgan sighed. Although he had expected the two hunters to be tougher than the guys he was used to roughing up, he was hoping that he wouldn't meet with such strong resistance. He felt the irritation in him grow and let fly like a man possessed, throwing more angry punches. Sam finally succumbed to the blows, and his guarded grunts gave way to cries of pain as the onslaught continued.

"Are you ready to give up the prize yet?" Morgan asked him.

Sam grimaced and spat out a blood coated, "Screw you." in response.

xxxx

Morgan stood back looking at Sam's battered face and slumped body and decided there was little point in continuing. He needed the kid to stay conscious; after all, Sam was the one with the information. Rubbing his own painful knuckles he wasn't sure what his next move should be, all he knew was that he was getting tired of playing this game with them.

He suddenly became aware that Dean was still giving him grief for hitting his brother, chomping away at him like a horse with a bit between its teeth. Morgan swung round to face him. "I would seriously think about giving your mouth a rest right now, because I have just about had enough of you at the moment."

"Oh, believe me, the feeling's mutual, you sick son of a bitch!"

Morgan covered the short distance to Dean in a few angry strides. "In case you hadn't noticed, son, you're not in a good position to be antagonising me. I mean, you do realise just how helpless you look at this moment?"

Dean eyed the officer's uniform up and down and smiled "And you do realise how much you look like one of the Village People at this moment?"

Morgan snapped, throwing his fist at him.

Dean groaned before letting out a, "so worth it."

The commotion was enough to cause Sam to stir and look up. "Leave him alone!" he cried, he can't help you – it's me you need."

Morgan stopped suddenly in his tracks. Well this was an interesting turn of events, these two clearly cared more about each others well-being than they did about their own. He thought that maybe he could turn this to his advantage, having to save his brother might be the focus Sam needed to start talking.

By now, Morgan's fists were too bruised to be used with any real force. For a moment he considered using his gun or a knife on the elder hunter instead, but rejected the idea remembering something of an old saying about not using a hammer to crack a walnut. The gun would wait until later.

Looking round Morgan spotted a discarded length of electrical flex that he could use. Picking it up, he looped it in one hand and moved round to stand behind Dean. With a few quick strokes of a knife from his pocket he cut through Dean's jacket and shirt baring his back.

With Morgan outside his line of vision, Dean could only watch his brother's reactions to the scene that unfolded behind him. His curiosity quickly gave way to a growing sense of dread as he realised that he didn't need to see what Morgan was doing to know that this was going to hurt like hell. Sam was making large account withdrawals from his emotional bank and displaying the results across his face like a slow-motion horror film. "Oh crap" Dean muttered. This was not good.

"Dean!" The name slipped out from Sam coinciding with Morgan's first blow across

Dean's back with the length of flex.

Unprepared for the pain, Dean arched his back and let out a short agonised cry. Through gritted teeth he growled out a warning to Morgan, "I'm going to rip your freaking arms off for that!"

The next stroke quickly followed, but by then Dean knew what to expect and had braced himself. The noise he made was barely audible, although Sam, now sensitively tuned into him, caught the smallest grunt and a whispered, "Oh, God!" as the flex flew through the air and made contact with bare flesh.

This display of bravery incensed Morgan. This was not how it was supposed to play out; he needed a big emotional scene to tug at Sam's heart strings. Putting his full weight behind him, he dealt out several heavy strokes in quick succession, and was finally rewarded with the reaction he had been after. Unable to tough it out any longer, deep racking sobs now came from the elder hunter, and his body was starting to tremble in anticipation of each blow.

Morgan paused and asked "Think he's had enough yet, Sam? Just say the word and I'll stop."

Sam looked over at Dean and swallowed down the large lump of hurt that had lodged midway in his throat. He had spent the last few minutes of Dean's ordeal arguing with himself, trying to balance the knowledge that Morgan intended to kill them once the spirit had been summoned, against an overwhelming urge to stop his brother's suffering. He was well and truly stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place.

Whether through desperation or just sheer luck, a moment of clarity came to him, and an idea started to form in his mind. Working it through, he found the idea distasteful at the very least, but another look towards Dean was just the resolve he needed. He just hoped that it would work out, and that he'd be able to put things right at the end of it. "Okay, Morgan, stop, just stop, I'll do it."

Dean shouted out a warning, "Sam, no! Don't do it! He's going to kill you when he's done!"

"No Dean, I'm not going to watch any more of this." He turned to Morgan, "You will have to take the cuffs off; I can't do the ritual like this."

Morgan considered the request and agreed.

Pushing his luck, Sam tagged on a further request, "That includes Dean too; I won't do it while he's still cuffed either."

Morgan just stooped and picked up the discarded flex. "Fine, then this continues until you do."

Sam visibly paled, "Okay, okay, just me."

"Good decision," Morgan reached up and released Sam. Making a show that he now held his gun, he warned him, "If you try anything stupid your brother's gonna leak like a sieve the next time he takes a drink. Understand?"

Sam nodded that he did.

xxxx

Once released, Sam set to work. "Okay, I need something personal of Frank's to make into a talisman. Have you got anything, a photo or some jewellery, maybe a key ring?"

Morgan pulled his sleeve back and unfastened his watch "Here, this was Frank's take it." he passed it over.

Sam took it, and with his back to Morgan, crouched down next to one of the bags that had been retrieved from the motel. When he had finished he turned round and presented a hastily made talisman to Morgan. "Here, you need to hold on to this while I do the ritual. That way you'll be in control of the spirit."

Morgan curiously studied the object pressed into his hand. The watch had been attached to a small golden cross and chain that he did not recognise, and both were bound to a small assortment of potent smelling dried twigs and leaves by a thin strip of leather. "What are these?" He asked suspiciously.

"The leaves are herbs needed to summon the spirit, and the cross is for protection to ward off any evil forces that may feel like joining in the party." Sam explained.

"Herbs?" Morgan almost choked. "You planning on summoning a ghost or making a casserole?"

Sam had lost count of the number of times he had heard jokes along this theme before, but it still never failed to sadden him that he knew all about the alternative properties of the average spice cupboard, compared to the simple culinary knowledge of normal folk.

Listening to the exchange, Dean looked at Sam quizzically. The herbs he understood, but the cross and chain for protection, that was a new one on him. He momentarily puzzled over this improvisation to the ritual, before it dawned on him what Sam had in mind. He hoped his kid brother knew what he was doing.

Sam picked up the book he needed, flicking through the pages till he found the ritual. He looked over at Morgan. "Now you're sure about this? Because unless we can salt and burn Frank's bones, you're going to be stuck with him?"

Morgan hissed at him "Just get on with it".

With a last apologetic glance at Dean, Sam started to slowly recite the Latin from the page before him. At first nothing seemed to happen, but then slowly the overhead lights began to flicker, the noise of electrical currents being temporarily broken buzzed and crackled around their heads, and the air became so cold that their breath formed icy clouds before them.

All three looked apprehensively around them. Morgan was the first to break the silence with a strangled gurgle that erupted from deep within his throat. He looked on in stunned horror as the vaguely familiar form started to take shape. Although he had been planning this moment for months, he had given little thought beyond his brother being brought back, and he now struggled to process the image. The apparition before him was grotesque, a grey pallor covered its face, and a single gun-shot wound in the centre of its forehead stared back at him like a third unblinking eye.

Seeing his brother in this way was bad enough, but the whole spirit thing completely unhinged him. It took all his self-control to override his natural flight response and stop himself from running. What on earth had he been thinking? Seeing the evil in humans was one thing, hell – he had even performed evil acts himself. But this, this was so far beyond his comprehension it was stratospheric.

It was a few seconds before he realised he was crying, and like the small child that he had become, he lost the control of his bladder.

Both boys looked on with a certain amount of sympathy. Over the years they had seen displays from the entire range of the emotional spectrum from 'civilians' seeing sights like this for the first time, but mostly this seemed to be the normal reaction. So despite their hatred for Morgan, they understood the madness that was now filling his head, and were not surprised to hear him pleading that he had changed his mind, and to make the thing go away.

xxxx

Preoccupied with acting out his role as an extra in the horror film now playing in his head, Morgan failed to notice a fifth presence emerging from a bright halo of light to join the group. It was Conner, and Sam had been expecting him. He had remembered pocketing the cross belonging to Conner earlier, and with a heavy heart, had added it to the talisman in the hope that Conner's spirit would appear and want to exact his own revenge on his killers.

With guilty tears forming in his eyes, Sam looked on at the total confusion that registered on Conner's face. The spirit looked around in complete bewilderment, until suddenly he caught sight of the spirit of Frank. The recognition was instantaneous, and given a new found purpose, Conner launched himself full on at him.

The two spirits stood in a bizarre face-off, Conner glowering while Frank registered the surprisingly human look of fear. Conner began to order Frank to leave his land for eternity, drawing on unknown forces as he did so. A small vortex of wind blew up surrounding Frank's spirit, and the dark and sinister shadows of unseen hands appeared from beneath him, dragging him screaming to the depths of an unearthly pit.

Morgan dropped to the floor hugging his knees and hiding his face. His wailing announced the loss of his fight with sanity. Sam took this opportunity to release Dean, and raced over to undo his cuffs. Shaking the blood back down into his arms, Dean made an unsteady grab for his shotgun, but was stopped by Sam placing a restraining hand on his arm. "No Dean, wait".

With wary eyes on Conner, the hunters waited to see what the spirit would do. Sam was desperate to avoid the salt and burn. Although they never knew where spirits ended up after this, Sam had always had a nagging doubt that it was never a good outcome, certainly not one that Conner deserved.

Conner had stopped in his tracks in front of Morgan. In life he had been a simple farmer, creating life through the crops that he sowed and livestock he raised. In death, he was a simple benevolent spirit, and with Frank safely dispatched to who knows where, Conner's anger was spent.

Sam started to edge slowly and deliberately over to Morgan, ignoring his brother's hiss as this brought him ever closer to Conner.

"Dude, don't go over to it."

"I think he's okay, Dean," he replied, but he still turned to check that Dean had the spirit covered with the rock salt – just in case.

He leaned over Morgan and prised the talisman out from between the frozen fingers. Standing within Conner's reach, he tried to calm his shaking hands enough to dismantle it. Discarding all but the cross, he held it up hoping that Conner would see that he had been freed from the ritual. Tears streaked down his face as he told Conner he was sorry.

Time stopped still as the brothers held their breaths. Sam forced himself to look directly into Conner's eyes hoping that they conveyed the right message. The spirit seemed to understand, and he nodded to Sam, turned, and then walked away from him into a light that grew in intensity until it had absorbed his form.

"That was an awesome bit of whispering you did there, Melinda" Dean said, smiling. Then with genuine concern in his voice, "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Dean, but what about him?" he replied, nodding at the jellied form of Morgan.

"Well, I feel like killing the sadistic son of a bitch for what he did to us, but I guess he's no longer a threat to anyone, so maybe we should just turn him in." Then eyeing the cut edges of his jacket he whined, "Oh, man, look what he did to my jacket!"

Grabbing a handful of Morgan's own jacket, Dean pulled him into a sitting position and threw a strong right hook in his face. Then bending down to him, he whispered, "and you would've gotten away with it without us meddling kids."

After some debate, they decided to leave Morgan cuffed in the depot since they couldn't risk dropping him off at the police station. An anonymous tip-off would give the man's whereabouts. With no evidence of any crime, it was unlikely that Morgan would be formally charged with anything, but they felt sure that he had received some form of retribution with the loss of his sanity, and would never be able to interfere in the supernatural again.

xxxx

Daybreak found the boys outside at the small family burial plot adjacent to the depot next to the unkempt grave of Conner. Sam knelt down and dug a small hole at the base of the headstone. Pulling out the cross and chain, he said a silent prayer for Conner and dropped the treasures in. Plugging it with a clump of dirt, he got to his feet and stood by his brother.

"That was a nifty bit of thinking you did back there, Sammy, where on earth did you drag that idea from?"

"Not really sure," Sam replied, staring at the headstone. "I was desperate enough at the time to try anything – no matter how risky. Just hoped that Conner would want a little pay-back time of his own, and it was the right call. Guess there's some truth in the saying that you reap what you sow."

End


End file.
